


Merciless

by catsandladyluck



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Because They Love Each Other, M/M, MERCILESS, NSFW, Smut, SnowBaz, This is giving me feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsandladyluck/pseuds/catsandladyluck
Summary: It’s not like I haven’t thought about moving further with Snow. Quite the opposite, really. Quite the opposite.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, ao3 (: Taking a quick break from my drabble series to present you with THIS!  
> This is actually my first nsfw snowbaz fic, and it's ao3 exclusive! I hope you feel special!  
> It gave me so many feels when writing it, so please enjoy (:

_ Baz _

 

By the time I get back to Simon’s flat from a long night of feeding, Simon is already asleep on his bed. He’s laying flat on his back, snoring loudly. And he must have dozed off while waiting for me because he’s still wearing his t-shirt and trackies from earlier (Simon doesn’t sleep in anything but boxers anymore, and I never complain.)

I change quickly, tossing my clothes into Snow’s hamper (I end up doing all his laundry anyway), then crawl across the bed to him. He’s half tangled in the blanket, still snoring, and I smile at him and shake my head.

“Hey, love,” I say, running my fingers through his curls. “I’m back,”

“Hnn.” He stirs a little, then settles and starts snoring again.

“Come on.” I tug his shirt up a bit, and my fingers burn where they touch his skin. “I know how you hate sleeping in clothes.”

“Can’t…” He mumbles sleepily. 

“I will help you,” I say, grabbing both sides of his shirt. For someone who hates sleeping in clothes, Snow sure falls asleep in them often. This happens almost every night that I feed; Snow is so lazy and too tired to care, so I help him take his clothes off. And I won’t lie by saying that the only reason is because he’s a furnace.

As I pull up his shirt, I gaze over the skin of his stomach and chest. There are moles everywhere, the same ones I see every day, as well as the same scars I trace over every night. His deep breaths make his chest seem even broader than usual, but I still think about kissing him there. Most nights I don’t. But tonight I do.

“Arms up, love,” I say when I yank the shirt over his back muscles and up to his arms. He stirs again, slowly bringing his hands up to the pillow above his head. I pull the shirt over his elbows, and he groans when the collar catches on his nose. I toss the shirt over my shoulder, not even bothering to aim for the hamper.

“Time for your pants, Simon,” I say, lacing my fingers into the elastic of his trackies. And this is the part I equally appreciate and dread. Because Snow and I have only been together for a few months, and we haven’t moved very far physically (I’m not complaining; Snow is an amazing kisser), but each night, when I get to this part, well-

“I got it,” Snow mumbles, stirring again.

“Oh, okay.” I unlace my fingers.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you still have it?” I ask.

“Hnnn… No, help.”

“Okay, love.”

Anyway, each night, when I get to this part, it seems like all the blood I have left rushes down to one place. And as I slip my fingers back into his trackies and start pulling them down, it does. 

It’s not like I haven’t thought about moving further with Snow. Quite the opposite, really.  _ Quite  _ the opposite. But him and I never talk about it. Ever. Not even during our heaviest of snogging. And it makes me believe that he’s not ready. And I don’t mind, usually. Because I’m so in love with him; too far gone to care how long it takes.

But now, I wonder if I should be the one to talk about it. To bring it up. To ask. Because maybe Snow is thinking the same about me. That maybe I’m not ready. And that he doesn’t want to push me. Oh, how I’m ready. Oh, how I want him to push me. And oh, maybe I should ask him.

I tug at the ankles of Snow’s trackies, then pull the remaining fabric off of him and toss it in the same direction as his shirt. I trail my fingers slowly up his leg and stop when I touch the fabric of his boxers. I continue the rest of the way up with my eyes, gazing over the outline of his hip, then through the creases of his legs, before finally settling on the soft bulge in the middle.

I’ve never seen Simon completely naked (except for that one time during 4th year when he forgot to lock the bathroom door. But I really don’t count that). I think about it too much, probably. Is his skin still golden there? Does he have freckles? Is he, well, how big is he? I really should just talk to him about this.

I crawl up to him and lay on my side, propping my head against the pillows. I grab the tangle of blanket and pull it around us, snuggling up next to him in the process. My skin burns as I touch him. Snow really is a furnace.

I stay still for a minute and debate on trying to talk to him about it now. I almost convince myself not to, but then decide that it should be done immediately.

“Simon,” I say quietly in his ear.

“Hnn…?”

I’m silent for a moment, trying to think of the best words to use so as not to freak him out. But how do you just casually ask your boyfriend if you can move further in your relationship? Is there a proper way?  _ Simon, can we do more?  _ No, definitely not.  _ Can we move further? _ I guess.  _ Can I give you a blowjob?  _ Hah. That’s laughable. Even I’m not that rubbish at these kinds of thing.

I feel a nervous lump begin to form in my throat, so I decide to try to get this over as quick as possible.

“Simon,” I say again.

He stirs slightly. “Hn. Wha’?”

_ Just ask him, Basilton. Just get it out and ask him. You know what to say. Just say it. _

“Can I give you a blowjob?” 

Well, fuck. Aleister Crowley, I’ve fucked up.

Simon stirs again, moving slightly closer to me. I try to swallow my nerves, inwardly cursing myself for being an idiot, and hoping that Snow is too sleepy to remember any of this in the morning. He doesn’t open his eyes, but I can hear his breathing deepen.

“Hnn…” He groans, although it sounds like more of a breath. “May’e soon.”

I blink a couple times, first trying to figure if I heard him right, and then trying to figure out what good deed I’ve done to save myself from utter embarrassment. And then I smile. Because sleepy Simon is the most honest Simon. And if sleepy Simon says maybe, maybe awake Simon will too.

I snuggle closer to him, wrapping my arms around his torso, and I fall asleep quickly.

  
  


When I come over after Uni the following evening, Simon’s arms are around my neck before I even close his bedroom door.  

“Hi, Snow,” I say, pulling him closer and running my fingers through his hair.

He kisses me so intensely that I feel my stomach drop to the floor. He slides his hands around my collarbone, then grabs onto the front of my shirt and pulls me to his bed. 

Most of our snogging sessions start out this way. Simon can’t keep from kissing me when we’re alone in his room, so the moment I walk through that door, he’s on me. Not that I mind, of course. And then he drags me to his bed and pushes me down on it, like he’s doing right now. And then he will crawl into my lap and we’ll snog and snog and snog until our mouths are sore and we can’t remember when we took off our shirts. But that’s as far as it goes every time. And then afterwards, I usually take a shower, and have a wank. But today, I’m going to talk to him. Right after he gets his tongue out of my mouth. 

He pushes me onto the corner of the bed; gently, slowly, like he’s taking his time. Then he leans down and kisses me again. But instead of crawling into my lap, he pushes my back down as well, and crawls on top of me. His tongue is immediately back in my mouth, and Crowley, I’m struggling to concentrate. I have to talk to him before this goes any further, because I want him so bad. I have to talk to him. I have to.

“Baz,” he says suddenly, pulling back from the kiss. He locks his eyes with mine, challenging, then immediately ducks his head into the crook of my neck.

“What is it, Snow?” I ask, sliding my hand to the back of his neck. 

“Do you, uh, remember what we talked about last night?”

I gulp. Because fuck, here it comes. Rejection.

“I do.”

He mumbles something into my neck. 

“What?”

He leans his head to the side, his lips grazing my ear. “I said, I want… I want to do that. To you.”

Crowley. I’m done for. Because Simon Snow just said those words.  _ I want to do that. To you.  _ To me, I think.  _ To me. _

“You do?” I ask, because I can’t quite believe it. “To me?”

Snow nods into my neck. “Is that… Okay?”

I close my eyes and gulp. “Of-of course it is, Snow.”

He leans up and looks at me, his gaze fierce. “You have to call me Simon, though.”

I gulp again. “Okay, Simon.”

And I never thought this would actually be happening so suddenly. Simon pulling me to sit up on the edge of the bed. Simon leaning in and pressing his lips against mine so curiously, like every kiss is a question. Simon slowly trailing his fingers down my chest and resting them on the hem of my jeans. Simon kneeling down on the floor between my legs. Simon slowly unbuttoning my jeans, his hands shaky and nervous. 

“Simon,” I say, running my fingers through his curls. 

He unbuttons the last button of my pants, then looks up at me. “Are you… Are you sure you want this, Baz?” He asks. His eyes are almost glowing in the evening light filtering in through the windows.

“Of course I do, Sn-Simon. Yes, I do. I’ve wanted this for a while.”

He smiles at me gently. “Me too,” he says.

And before I can even think about that, he’s pulling my pants down and over my hips, then down to my ankles. He slips each ankle out of the leg holes, so carefully and gently, then pushes the entire thing away. He then slides his hands up the inside of my legs, pushing them apart, and his fingernails are trailing painstakingly slow. It feels good, so good. I find myself getting goosebumps.

I let my head roll back and my eyes fall shut, enjoying how the sensation of his touch is making my skin tingle. And then my stomach drops suddenly, because Simon’s mouth is against my crotch, kissing me there through the fabric with his warm breath. I open my eyes and look down at him in disbelief. This is really happening. And it’s hot. And I can’t seem to catch my breath.

“S-simon.” I push my hand into his hair.

He rakes his fingers over my underwear and up to my hips, then tucks them into the waistband. He seems to hesitate there for a moment, but it doesn’t stop me from growing hard against his lips.

“Is this... Okay?” He asks, looking up at me.

I pull gently at a few of his curls and nod. “More than okay.”

He tugs at my underwear quickly, and I angle myself slightly so he can pull them over my hips. The waistband catches against my cock, so he tugs my underwear harder, and they fall to my knees. He leans forward and plants a gentle kiss on my knee cap, which has to be to be the strangest place he’s ever kissed me. But I still love it.

The air is cold against me, and I feel so exposed as Simon pulls my underwear off of my feet. He wraps his hands around my calf muscles, pulling my legs apart, and then stops when his eyes trail up to my cock. His breath hitches, and he might have just mumbled “fuck”.

“Are you… Are you just going to stare, Snow?”

He frowns up at me. “Only if you keep calling me ‘Snow’.” 

“Sorry, Simon,” I say, pulling gently at his hair. 

He pushes himself up towards me and kisses me intensely on the lips. His hands fumble over the buttons of my shirt, and when they’re unbuttoned, his fingers trail gently down my chest. I find myself having a hard time drawing a breath the further down they go. And the instant they wrap around my cock, I feel like I’m suffocating.

Simon has never done this with anyone else before. And neither have I. His hands are shaky, and his breaths are short and nervous. But if he has no idea what he’s doing, he’s fooling me. Because his hand is firm around me, and he’s moving his fingers so smoothly, like he’s kneading me. And fuck, it feels good. So good. Better than I’ve ever hoped. Because he’s touching me like he wants me. Because he’s touching me like he needs this as much as I do. 

I must have stopped breathing because he pulls back slightly from our kiss and raises an eyebrow at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Better than okay, love,” I say. “This feels really good.”

He grins at me. “I’m hardly touching you.”

“It still feels amazing.”

He leans back in to kiss me again, and continues his stroking. I slide one hand up his hip and push my fingers under his shirt.

“I want to touch you, Simon,” I whisper against his lips.

He grins again. “I promise you that you will get to. But I want to touch you first.”

And  _ Crowley _ , I didn’t think it was possible to get even more turned on than I already was. But I am, and now Simon is pushing me back further onto the bed. He presses his hand down on my chest, and I lay flat on my back, a pillow propping against my head. He trails his fingers back down my stomach, but then deliberately avoids my cock, and runs them along my hip bones instead. 

He crawls over my legs, and leans down to kiss up my inner thigh. His nails are gently scraping against my hips, and his tongue is running circles way too close to where I want him. Ah, I get it. 

“Tease,” I say, pushing my hand back into his curls.

I can feel him smile against my leg, and before I realize it, his tongue is at the base of my cock and licking upwards. So. Agonizingly. Slow.

“S’fuck.” I meant to say ‘fuck’, and then I wanted to say ‘Simon’, and then it came out as ‘s’fuck’, the most embarrasing moan I could have ever made. But Simon’s tongue is making nonsense out of my words.

My slip-up must have encouraged him though, because his fingers are wrapping around the base now, and his tongue is teasing the head. He’s still so nervous, and I can feel his hands shaking. And maybe is tongue isn’t very coordinated. But Aleister Crowley, it feels too good. Too fucking good. So good that there’s no way I will be able to last as long as I had hoped. Crowley, how have I lived this long without Simon Snow’s tongue on my cock?

It feels like he’s about to draw back suddenly, because his grip loosens and his tongue disappears. And I wonder briefly if he’s not enjoying this. But that thought is immediately erased when his entire mouth is on me. Fuck. Simon’s mouth is so hot, and my skin is so cold; I feel like I’m on fire. I feel like I’ll have mouth-shaped burns all along my-

“Hnnn,” Simon lets out a moan. A fucking moan. Merlin and Morgana, Simon’s moan will be the death of me. Crowley, I need to hear it again.

I tug lightly on his hair, and I push gently against his tongue. He freezes momentarily, but then takes more of my cock into his mouth, and squeezes it at the base. 

“Fuck, Simon,” I say breathlessly, but at least thankful I said the proper words this time. Because that felt good, too good. And if he does it again, I might be done for.

He must have realized this though because he does it again. And I try so hard to hold it in.

“S-simon, I’m, I’m going, I’m going to-”

And this is the moment that I realize just how merciless Simon truly is. Not once during those years at Watford did I realize it, where he was constantly threatening to fight me, or the nights where he would stalk me instead of letting me feed in peace, or sleep. Or the night where he kissed me so much, my mouth was sore for days. And how he continued to kiss me anyways. No, none of those times did I realize that Simon could be so merciless. Until now. Because right when I was on the brink of coming, he let go. He let all of me go. And I feel like I might explode.

He’s leaning up, his hands on either side of my hips, and he’s smirking at me. Smirking. Simon Snow and smirking. It doesn’t make sense.

“Fuck you, Snow,” I say, leaning up on my elbows. 

He giggles at me, then rolls off my legs and onto his side. “Sorry, Baz,” he says slyly, propping his chin on his hand. “I said I wanted to touch you. But I didn’t say I was going to let you get off so easily.”

I smirk at him. “Well, Snow,” I say, and I immediately push him on the shoulder, rolling on top of him as he lays on his back. “I’m not going to let you get off so easily either.”

Because Simon has yet to realize just how merciless I can be.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to the lovely Rainbow Rowell!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: @carryonsimoncarryon  
> And my beta: (tumblr: @baz-n-simon) (ao3: @Drarry_N_Snowbaz)


End file.
